Helium
by mrssosostris
Summary: At sixteen, Blaine Anderson is bored, has no friends and is working a summer job from hell. One day, he and a co-worker attach letters to a hundred balloons and send them into the sky. Blaine could never have predicted the responses he'd get.
1. Chapter 1

**Helium**

_These kids, they're like tied-down helium balloons. They strain against the string and strain against it, and then something happens, and that string gets cut, and they just fly away._

_- John Green, Paper Towns_

* * *

**Part 1: Blaine**

It's raining so hard that the water droplets are pinging right back off the tarmac, and the sky is black and the air is thick. A few soccer moms are milling around the concourse just outside the gates of Columbus Zoo, their blowdries thoroughly soaked out of their newly frizzballed hair as they impatiently wait for Gina, the world's least attentive cashier, to return from her cigarette break. They've all brought their children, of course, but they've left the darling treasures in their SUVs so they don't catch a cold.

_Bless._

Blaine wants to be sick. Of all the summer jobs in all the world, how did he end up with this one? He'd been offered a job at Six Flags for god's sake; he could have had girls throwing panties and bras and stuff at him, and maybe a guy would have caught his eye. Instead, he's standing in the cold beside a scabby leopard print billboard selling animal-shaped balloons to anyone crazy enough to spend $6 on what is essentially a lump of imprisoned air. The foil animals aren't even biologically correct, he thinks – the koalas are pink, the dolphins are purple and the giraffes are blue, and they all have these freakily huge eyes have come to haunt every single one of his dreams.

The kids think they're cute, though, so the zoo's evil marketing ploy has clearly worked. Blaine knows this because they have a tantrum whenever their parent won't buy them one, screeching to high heaven until their mom (or, more often, their dad) gives in. He thinks kiddie screaming has probably ruptured his ear drums by this point; he'll never be a musician now.

He stands for a while longer, staring vaguely in the direction of the ticket kiosk as Gina finally sells the soccer moms their tickets. He watches as they drag their litters through the gates and, finally, blissfully, away from him and his balloons. Sadly, the morning is young and he still has a whole day of this. A whole day of screaming kids and crazed parents and, worst of all, dangerous levels of static electricity fizzing right above his hair.

Damnit.

They'd lured him with the outfit, that was what it was. The bow tie, the cute apron, the compulsory all-American hair gel – he couldn't say no. The reality is far less glamorous, he knows that now. He can even _feel_ the gel running out of his hair and down his neck, and his curls are coming back wilder than ever. He looks and feels completely gross, he's ruined his summer and he's lost all faith in humanity. He was a nice guy before this. He can't take it any more.

Another car pulls up as if to spite him. Seconds later, a beleaguered dad clambers out, dragging a squirming childling by the hand as it bawls its head off. A marginally less ugly little girl skips along with them, jumping over cracks in the pavement.

"What's Zoo-m-bezi?" she asks as they near the gates, sounding out the name of the ridiculous promotion the zoo is running. It's plastered over a banner in leopard print word-art that offends Blaine's eyes on a second-by-second basis.

"It's just a funny name, twinkle toes," the man replies, a saccharine smile beaming through his wrinkled features. She grins and reaches for his hand, clearly thinking he's some kind of walking Wikipedia.

Blaine scoffs. Who knew so many people lacked a basic knowledge of African geography? Maybe becoming a parent did this to you, maybe it sapped out your brains so you didn't care how servile you'd become to a useless little lump of flesh. If you'd asked him a month ago, he'd have said he wanted kids when he was older. Desperately. But now he's not so sure. Childlings are just… ew.

He wants a guy, though. Badly. Someone who'll hold his hand and pick him up from work and kiss him on the lips, someone who'll know stuff he doesn't and who'll ask him favours and tell him jokes. Because if standing in the same spot with a fake smile on his face and a bunch of gaudy balloons in his hand has told him anything, it's that he needs to _do _something with his life. He's sixteen and he doesn't have any friends, not really, and his parents don't give a shit so he basically has no one. It's taken this godforsaken day in the rain to make him know exactly how alone he is in the world. There's no one out here, no one like him anyway. He just wishes he could fly off to New York City right now and find the cultured people who care that art and music exist and that the Zambezi is a major African river and not just a funny-sounding name for a shitty promotion for an even shittier zoo in the shittiest town in the wor –

"Mister, may I please have a balloon?"

Blaine's eyes snap downwards and he nearly _snarls _when he feels the ugly munchkin pulling on his apron strings. It's still pouring and he would really quite like to take shelter in the ticket kiosk, but apparently there are still a few idiotic people in the world wanting balloons so he has to stay outside. Thankfully, a flawless grinning mask slips on before he loses his temper. "Sure," he says easily, "What animal would you like?"

"The bear please, mister."

"It's actually a koala."

"Oh," says the boy, frowning slightly. "A koala bear then please, mister."

"They're not bears," Blaine says curtly as he reaches up for one of the vile pink balloons, "And stop calling me mister." He just about manages to put on a fresh smile as he turns back but when he looks down again, the kid has gone.

He traces its probable path right back to where an enormous white Land Rover is humming in the parking lot, and tries to feel nonchalant when he sees the child sobbing in its mother's arms. But guilt quickly turns to terror when he sees the mother turn to look at him as the grizzling child points at the balloon stand. In seconds, she's crusading over the concrete towards him, frown barely winning a hard-fought battle against Botox.

Then –

"Quick! Blaine!"

It's Gina, who's never spoken to him in more than grunts. Suddenly she's dragging him by the arm behind the kiosk and holding out a cigarette.

"I saved your life. No need to thank me."

And then, "Wanna light?"

Blaine shakes his head and tries not to shiver. It's sheltered here and the relative reprieve is making him realise just how cold he is; he wants his umbrella and then a hot shower, asap. Gina blows smoke in his face as if she can hear his thoughts, but it is way more unpleasant than it is warming.

"You two, get out from behind there RIGHT NOW." The soccer mom has reached the stand, it appears.

"On another break," yells Gina. "Workers' rights."

"I'll most certainly report you to the duty manager. He will _not_ be pleased to hear about this, I assure you." The woman's voice is shrill and annoying.

"Good luck, lady," Gina bellows back. "I _am_ the fucking duty manager."

And then there's a demanding scream from the parking lot followed by a laboured sigh and then, finally, the glorious sound of retreating footsteps. Victory.

Gina and Blaine stand side by side, the rain pitter-pattering all around them as they squeeze under the slight overhang of the kiosk roof.

And then, between two smoky puffs and completely without warning, Gina leans over, grabs his face and sticks her tongue in his mouth.

And that is Blaine Anderson's pathetic excuse for a first kiss.

* * *

"So, first one, huh?" she asks, but only after she's taken another three puffs.

He doesn't answer her but they do somehow strike up an awkward sort of conversation. He finds out she's 22 and a single mom. They've got no money so she lives with her mom, who once murdered a dog. She loves her kid, she hates the zoo kids. She calls them piglets.

After a while, he realises he actually really likes her. She's pretty, chunky gold earrings and clumped spidery eyelashes aside.

"It was my first kiss," he admits eventually, toe shoeing the ground.

"LOL," replies Gina suddenly and blandly. Then, more kindly, "Don't worry, you didn't suck."

"I didn't do anything."

She smiles wryly. "You didn't suck."

"Good," says Blaine, weirdly pleased.

"So… you wanna kiss me again?" she asks.

"No thanks, Gina."

A silence.

"At least it passes the time," she says eventually, looking sort of… hurt.

Blaine sighs. "Gina, I'm gay, okay? No offense." It's still hard to say it, he's still scared.

"Oh," says Gina, finally regaining her smirk. Blaine smiles. "Always wanted to kiss a gay guy."

"Well at least one of our dreams came true," he says snarkily.

And they laugh. Despite everything.

And then they talk some more. Blaine tells her stuff he hasn't told anyone, not even Cooper, just because she's like a sponge when you talk to her – you can tell she's taking everything in by the minute twitches of her eyebrow and the slight furrowing of her brow, but if you wanted to, you could (non-violently) wring her out and she wouldn't tell another soul. So he finds himself telling her everything. How he's gay. How he's out to his parents but not to his 'friends', friends he hates. How everyone in this town is stupid and uncultured. How his parents are unaccepting and absent. How he wants a boyfriend. How he made the mistake of choosing his summer job based on the outfit he'd get to wear. How koalas aren't bears and how Zoombezi isn't just a dumb name for –

"I have an idea," interrupts Gina, bored, but Blaine can see the first sparks of excitement in her eyes. "I've been thinking about it for a while, actually."

He raises an eyebrow, urging her to go on.

"I hate those balloons, they weird me out," she continues. "And you're lonely and pathetic. I saw a movie…" she pauses for breath, trying to reign in the excitement that's threatening to seep into her voice. "I saw a movie, a French movie, about a red balloon. It was this lonely boy's friend, and it leapt around like a dancing sperm and it was nice to him –"

Blaine rolls his eyes. "Gina, I don't need to make friends with scary looking balloon creatures. I'm not that much of a loser."

"Right," says Gina, "But that's not my plan. You can make friends with the balloons in your own time or whatever." She chucks the cigarette to the floor and squashes it under her Doc Martens. She takes a breath. "Anyway, at the end of the movie, mean kids kill the red balloon and the boy is sad. But then a whole gay rainbow of balloons comes to his house and he always has playmates. Yay."

Blaine snorts despite himself. "I'm still not getting it, Miss Gina."

She rolls her eyes. "We have balloons, we have our genius and, in my case, a Gina-ous mind. And we can write. So all we have to do is write a letter to your boyfriend and stick it on a balloon and wait for him to find it!"

"But I don't have a boyfriend."

"That's the whole _point_, Blaine. _Imagine_ you do. Imagine you're using the sky as a speed dating site. You want a guy who's gonna look hard enough at a disgusting pink creature balloon to see the letter attached to it. That's a good trait in a guy."

"Hmm, are you implying I need someone to look beyond my flaws? Or are you saying I have a body like a pink koala?"

"Which do you think, loser?"

"Both?"

"Fuck off, self-effacement doesn't sit well on ya. Anyway, I'll write you a letter. You can review it tomorrow. And then we'll send them."

And then they part. The rain is heavier than ever, and Blaine starts to scowl again as he trundles to the main road to wait for the rarest bus in the country.

* * *

True to her word, Gina comes up trumps the next morning. She marches up to the balloon stand, pulls a sheet of paper from her pocket, and takes a deep breath.

"_Dear Balloon Finder,_

_Please accept this ugly deflated balloon as a token of friendship. Believe me, you're lucky not to see it in its original state – animal balloons are scary, man. Email me with your name and the location at which you found the balloon to claim your real prize: __blainesballoonproject (a) gmail . com  
_

_Love,_

_Blaine from Columbus, OH"_

"Did you actually set up that email address?" Blaine asks.

Gina nods, delighted by her own efficiency.

"Good," says Blaine. "And the letter sounds great."

"Yeah, I think it's friendly. Maybe we could find people from all over the country." Gina pauses, checking herself. "God, we're losers."

"But it's fun," says Blaine.

That afternoon, they close the balloon stand for 'annual maintenance'. They print out a hundred little slips, laminate them, and attach each one to a vile balloon. Even though the weather is better today, there aren't many customers so they have plenty of time to spare.

In the end, the balloons actually look quite neat, tied together by a single ribbon ready to go.

"I think," says Gina as she looks at the balloons, "I think we should let them off in batches. That way, the wind will blow them in different directions."

"Sounds good," says Blaine, and they divide them all up into groups of five. They scan the parking lot for anyone who might see them, and then they let the first batch go. It's sort of comical, watching the animals' eyes of panic suddenly make sense as they hurtle up into the air, up up up until they're out of sight. After a few minutes, after the wind has changed, they let out another five, and then another five.

And then, the next morning, they let out the rest.

Now all they have to do is wait.

* * *

**A/N Hi! I know I suck at updating The View from Nowhere - I am leaving it until I graduate, then it will be finished :) I think it'll take me a while to get back into it, so here's another multi-chapter fic to tide you over. It'll probably be about five parts long. Hope you like it!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

Five days later and the balloon stand has been replenished. Blaine told the general manager all the foil animals had been swept away in a freak gust of wind; no one could have foreseen it, it wasn't his fault, no way. Gina was his alibi, apparently impartial because no one knew they were in fact a weird sort of friends. So it worked. Kind of unbelievable, huh?

Today is unfortunately sunny and a Saturday so people have flocked to the zoo. There is a large queue for tickets, and a shorter but still substantial line for the balloons. Blaine wants to die: this time he's sweating out the gel, and he's getting sweat patches like no one's business. Shit. But he's feeling a bit nicer today - his smile is coming easier, and he doesn't want to kill every balloon in sight. And he enjoys his breaks with Gina. It's progress.

Suddenly, Mozilla Thunderbird beeps on Gina's kiosk computer. Blaine runs there, leaving the kids waiting, and Gina pulls down the blind at her kiosk window mid-sale. The woman buying the tickets blinks in shock, and then the crowd begins to shout.

"We're on a break," yells Gina. The shouts turn to mutters about terrible service.

They open the email:

_From: Santana Lopez (snix(a)hotmail . com)_

_To: blainesballoonproject (a) gmail . com_

_Blaine,_

_Just so you know, you sound like a desperate loser. However, after a day's careful consideration, I have decided to take pity on you. I'm from Gary, IN. You've probably heard of it, it's pretty infamous. Two top businesses are a strip club and a trucker rest stop and the rest have closed. It's great here. I found the balloon stuck to a wire fence by the hotel, by the way._

_Anyway, what's my prize? It'd better be money or I'll send my people to find you._

_Kisses,  
Santana_

"She sounds _fierce_," Gina comments, clearly impressed.

"Yeah," says Blaine, "But… we'll actually have to _get _her a prize now. And how are we gonna get it to her?"

Gina just shrugs. "I'm sure you'll figure it out. Just get money from your parents and it'll be fine."

"What? How –"

"Please, Blaine, you stink of money."

He reddens. Gina pushes him out of the kiosk.

"Break over," she yells, lifting the blind to reveal the snarling faces of the enraged crowd. "Get over yourselves," she says. "Blaine over there needs to find some friends and I'm helping him do that. Your screaming newts can hold on for a couple more seconds."

She deals with the queue in three minutes. She's very efficient when she concentrates.

* * *

They decide to hold off on replying to Santana until more responses come through: they need to know the number of prizes they're working with, and the geographic range they'd reached. Gary is over 200 miles away, and it was a long way for a bad quality balloon to reach. But perhaps some of the other balloon creature explorers had gone further, maybe some had reached Michigan or Kentucky.

But then there's nothing for the next two weeks, and they're starting to think all the balloons have been lost. They're just about to reply to Santana to say she's won a free trip to the zoo when two more emails come through, one at lunch time and the next just as they're packing up.

* * *

_From: Stargirl94 ( a) myspace . com_

_To: blainesballoonproject ( a ) gmail . com_

Attachment: myautograph . png

_Dear Friend,_

_My name is Rachel Berry. You may have heard of me on the show choir circuit where I am something of a big name. One day that very same name will be up in lights, but for now I am a rising high school sophomore in Akron. My fathers found your balloon outside our local Wal-Mart, it was very picturesque. _

_I have attached my autograph as a mark of authenticity – you can sell the transcript of this email once I've made it. I look forward to claiming my prize._

_All the very best in life,_

_Rachel Barbra Berry_

_Xoxo_

* * *

_From: sam_whitechoc mckinley . ac_

_To: blainesballoonproject gmail . com_

_Hi Blaine! This is such a cool idea, dude. Congrats for thinking of it. My friend Puck and I found your balloon on the football field – I'm the quarterback for the McKinley Titans and Coach Beiste was making us run tracks for summer practice and then I saw your cute little koala just hanging out on the bleachers. Brightened my day. Can't wait for the extra prize._

_Sam Evans_

Blaine sighs. "Why have the balloons only found two nasty girls and a straighter-that-straight guy?"

Gina shrugs. "At least you have your first gays," she says.

Blaine looks confused.

"Rachel Berry has _dads_, see?"

"Probably a typo…"

Gina nudges him affably. "I don't think so. Anyway, Blaine, don't worry. We still have ninety-seven balloons to go!"

"Yeah," says Blaine miserably, "And only two more weeks of summer to find them."

* * *

There are two more weeks and no more emails. Blaine almost forgets about it, even when he's leaving his apron and bow tie outside the kiosk for Gina to collect one she's finished counting the money at the end of the day.

Before he leaves, he turns back and says a silent goodbye to the tarmac he's stared at for the last 80 days. He won't miss it. Much.

But as he's walking to the bus stop, Gina runs up behind him and hands him a small slip of paper. When he looks up at her face, he sees she's… crying?

"Blaine, don't you dare leave without this." He looks at her, confused. "It's the password to the email." Her voice is scratchy and she looks genuinely upset.

"Aw, thanks Gina," Blaine says. "You know I'll miss you, right? Not the kids, but I'll miss you loads and loa -"

"Come here," she interrupts, and then she's suddenly and unexpectedly hugging him. She doesn't let go for about two minutes. "You know, you've really made my life more interesting. First as potential arm candy, then as a… friend. Yeah. Um. I'll miss you too."

She's not really prone to outbursts like this, and both of them feel uncomfortable.

"I'll keep checking the email, I promise," Blaine says.

"You do that," she says. "And, you know… if you have time, I'm always working here. Yeah?"

"Okay, Gina," Blaine replies, suddenly sad. "Bye."

"Bye, Blaine."

And then, after one more hug, she turns back towards the concourse, striding back to lock up her kiosk as if nothing had happened.

Blaine goes back to Dalton the next Monday and, weirdly, it feels like something big has come to an end.

* * *

**A/N Glad people seem to be liking it so far! Let me know if you like it/ if there's someone/thing you'd like me to put in, I'm always open to suggestions. I am on tumblr ALL THE TIME (same username) and on here quite a lot so come talk to me if you feel so inclined. Thanks for reading! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

**Helium, Chapter 3**

In Westerville, the school year starts pretty much as it had done at St. Peter's College, with new pencils and freshly washed-out fountain pens and dry-cleaned blazers. There's chatter and "Hey mans" and new lockers to get used to, and in class there are longing glimpses out of the window when everyone realises that the summer didn't magically make algebra any more interesting than it had been last year.

It's all familiar. Except when everyone's talking about their summers, Blaine quickly comes to the realisation that none of these guys had shitty summer jobs. Wes went all over Europe, David went to Montreal, Thad had been to a summer school at Yale, even Trent had managed to get an internship at a New York law firm. They all had stories to tell, people they'd met, things they'd seen. Blaine had done nothing all that time, nothing beyond staring at tarmac and kissing a girl he'd never see again.

And that wasn't the end of it. There had, apparently, been summer pool parties he hadn't been invited to, not to mention Warbler meals at fancy restaurants and road trips to the Lakes that had completely passed him by. No one even noticed him as they reminisced about it all in the Warbler common room, no one shot him a sympathetic glance or even a small, apologetic smile. No one cared at all.

At least things were better than they had been this time last year. They could hardly be any worse.

* * *

In Lima, the McKinley High school year starts pretty much as it always had, with new pencils and freshly washed-out fountain pens and dry-cleaned, steam-pressed McQueen blazers. There's chatter and "Hey mans" and new lockers to get used to, and football players still come out of the blue to shove people into lockers or welcome them back with a short sharp hit of slushie to the face. In his most hopeful moments, Kurt Hummel had entertained the idea that maybe things would be better this year, that maybe this time there'd be no one to replace the bullying ringleaders who had barely graduated the previous semester. That was the only thing that had brought him to school that day, that pretence that this time there'd be nothing (and no one) lurking in the corridors, waiting to hurt him.

No such luck. He's already been dyed slushie-purple to match his ten new bruises and first period hasn't even started yet. And, looking at his as yet unsoiled timetable (that will change soon), he realises that it's gym first, meaning that yet more insults and jibes and injuries will be coming his way soon. Lucky him.

He makes his way to the boys' changing rooms. There's buzz about this new football player, one Sam Evans, blond and muscled and, according to Mercedes, totally their type. When he walks through the door, he sees him. He's topless, and surrounded by meatheads. The guy already has _way_ more friends than Kurt does, and he's busy hi-fiving and bicep-clenching and flicking his hair, which _obviously _comes from a bottle. The guys probably don't know that, though. He's not _un_attractive, per se, and maybe, if he dyes his ha –

"Hey Hummel, stop checking Evans out. He's not into being sprinkled with yo fairy dust. Right Sam?" Azimio barks.

Sam laughs. It bubbles out of him, and he smiles a perfect smile of white, straight teeth. "No way, dude," he says.

Azimio pats Sam on his bare pecs, totally no homo, and Kurt tries to ignore them as they continue grunting together in a macho language he will never deign to understand. Instead, he turns around with his back to them and changes as quickly as possible, keeping himself quick by remembering the humiliating time when they gave him a wedgie at a moment exactly like this.

Then it's outside to run tracks, a great way to start junior year. Yay.

Through the warm up, he goes through his game plan. From his experience, he has observed that runners can be broadly grouped into five categories:

1) The Track Athletes. They are fast, and they compete with each other.  
2) The Fast Runners. Above average. Not good enough to compete, but fit enough to be respectable. Often play other sports.  
3) The Pack. Where everyone herds together. Not bad, not good. Not as much solidarity as one might think.  
4) The Stragglers. The unfit kids, who wheeze their bulk around the track and have to stay behind to complete the distance.  
5) Lauren Zizes. Who walks. With earphones in. Listening to loud, devil-worshiping music. The teachers don't dare to argue with her.

Kurt needs to be in group 3, even though he's more than capable of keeping up with the group 2s. His failsafe formula is to run with the group. Run run run run. And then, right where the track starts to curve by the trees, he slows down so he falls to the back. And then, quick as a fox, he'll slip into the woodland and hide in the undergrowth. From there, he can see the kids run round that circle over and over again. This is the only time gym is fun. He thinks their circuitous running serves as an apt metaphor for their lives in general. Plebs.

And so he does it. He runs for a bit, then hides behind the same bush as he always does. It always works.

And he watches.

And then a bird twitches overhead.

And he looks up.

And sees it fly away.

And then something else catches his eye.

A yellow leopard-printed balloon straining against the tree.

And then he hears a laugh and he's tackled to the ground and he has a sweaty groin on his face and someone punching his chest and then he hears a loud "STOP" and then, when he opens his eyes, the world is black.

* * *

Over lunch, Blaine checks the email. Nothing. Again.

He reminds himself for the millionth time that it's only a bit of fun.

He should start thinking about the prizes he'll be sending to Santana and Sam.

But that would sort of mean it was over. And he doesn't want that. Not yet.

* * *

**A/N Thanks so much for all your encouragement so far! Hope you're still enjoying it! :)**


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